


unlocked doors

by Lurx



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: English, F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, dragon fucker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5424071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurx/pseuds/Lurx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iorveth adjusts to peacetime and Saskia explores some of the more primal aspects of being human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A scholarly test

The sun had set on vergen hours ago but Iorveth still wandered the streets looking for... what? Since Henselt's army had been defeated and the Pontar Valley declared independent, he didn't know where he and the Scoia'tel fit in to the new regime. Most of the citizens looked away, or ushered their children inside when he passed. But others struck up small talk, bought him unsolicited drinks; one particularly emotional (and most likely drunk) dwarf even tried to hug him once. Of course, he had swiftly side-stepped this uncomfortable display but it just underlined the confusion. Vergen herself didn't know how to react to his presence anymore.

He had ditched his chainmail tunic and gambeson, as stabbings had become a less common occurrence these days. He couldn't bring himself to leave his knives at home. Though he had finally allowed his bow and quiver to stay tucked into a corner of his place in the Elven District. Leaving him in Leather trousers and a simple linen shirt under his shoulder-mounted knife holster. This was primarily at Saskia's urging, she said it might help him seem less intimidating. He doubted it did much for his public image, as his trademark bandanna was still necessary and his overall demeanor hadn't changed. Although, it did make the summer heat easier to endure.

He found himself at the Mahakam gate for the third time that night and decided he had wandered long enough. He took the long way home just to kill some more time.

His thoughts turned to Saskia, as they often did. She was rarely able to escape the bureaucracy of leadership, and when she did, she made a point to spend that time amongst the commonfolk. He would hang back during these times, it would not gain her any favors to be too familiar with him. But her eye would find him, wherever he was, and give him a nod. He would return it, and wander away to a distant part of town.

"Vergen will not forget the good The Scoia'tel have done," she had announced a few days after her war wounds had healed and she addressed a free Vergen for the first time. "and you will always have a home here." They had all been awarded proper houses for their help defending the city; small, as space was limited, but proper. There had been scattered applause, but mostly silence met this decree. It was widely regarded as her least popular decision, but she held firm, and would hear no dissent on the matter.

He approached his front step at the same time as a group of his Scoia'tel was leaving the house next door. "You're turning in already, Iorveth?" one younger elf asked in dismay "Come out to the pub with us. It's entirely too lovely a night to be sober." Iorveth shook his head, "I shall have to pass, perhaps next time." he said over his shoulder as he pushed his door open and walked inside. "You're nowhere near old enough to be so boring, Commander!" A young elf woman shouted. "Watch yourself, Essa," he called over his shoulder with just a note of amusement in his voice as he closed his door. "And lock your damn door! The thieves are bold here!" another muffled voice called.

Truth be told, Iorveth simply found keys to be an extra annoyance. Besides, he doubted anyone would risk getting on his shit list for the meager possessions he kept in his house. The only thing of value would be his bow, which (being quite recognizable,) would be easy to relocate if necessary. The bathtub tucked beside the fireplace might be of some value, though it was mostly useless to anybody without a nearby well.

This was one of the few luxuries Iorveth allowed himself, and he would allow few things to delay it. After years of living in the dirt, he relished the fact that he no longer had to put up with matted hair and itchy skin. So he kept a few gallons of water stored at all times so he could bathe whenever the urge took him, which was basically every night.

Almost immediately, he began undoing the buckles on his shoulder holster between pouring a few containers of cold water in the tub and putting a few others on the fire to boil. A very rare smile curled on his lips as he mixed the hot water in. He shrugged out of his chestpiece and allowed it to clatter around his feet. He untied his linen shirt and shrugged out of it as well. Just as he began to undo the fly on his trousers he heard a floorboard creak behind him.

He froze, as did the intruder behind him.

His dagger was still holstered on the floor, it would take far too long to draw. He decided to stall instead. "Really? Attacking a man with his pants down?" He drawled, looking around for something to use in defense. His eye rested on a pot in the fire, it's bottom glowing red. "I remember a time when even thieves held higher standards than that-" In one swift movement he swept the pot up by the handle, scattering hot embers across the floor, and whirled around to face the intruder.

From the shadows, a cloaked figure lowered her hood, revealing waves of golden hair and intense eyes Iorveth knew well. The momentum was too great to stop, and the handle too hot to hold for much longer, so he was forced to fling the pot into the wall with an incredible bang that seemed to go on for hours as it rolled around on the floor. "My apologies, Saskia, I didn't hear you come in..." He said after the pot finally stopped it's clatter, though apologies didn't seem like quite enough after attempted assault.

Saskia stepped into the firelight, "That's because I came in before you. I should be the one apologizing." She looked behind her at the entrance, "but really, Iorveth, you should lock your door."

She, too, had taken to leaving her armor behind these days. though she was usually dressed more extravagantly than she was now. In fact, it looked as though she had come hastily from her bedchambers and simply thrown a pair of cotton trousers on under her (rather short) nightgown.

He sighed to release some of the leftover adrenaline, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and flung it over his shoulder.

"I didn't mean to spy," Saskia said quickly, realizing that she must look like some kind of peeping tom, "I just couldn't wait for you outside so I came in and then... I just didn't know how to speak up without startling you."

Iorveth waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and kicked the cooling embers back into the fireplace with his bare feet."Your political career will suffer if anyone sees you here at this hour..." He told her as he fixed his trousers, which hung dangerously low on his hips. Saskia nodded as she approached, "Which is why nobody saw me." She answered, though she sounded somewhat absent-minded. An uncommon tone for Saskia, who spoke with such conviction and authority otherwise.

Iorveth furrowed his brow and gave her a sidelong glance. She was staring at him, though her eyes struggled to stay focused on his face; kept darting to the side and downward before returning. And she was speaking in such feeble tones. Something was odd. He pulled his shirt over his shoulders and faced her, "What do you need of me?"

She broke herself from her nervous daze and smiled at him, though it looked somewhat forced, "What? I can't just come to talk to an old friend?" She joked as she pulled a chair close to the fireplace. "'Old friend'?" Iorveth repeated, leaning against the mantle and re-tying his shirt across his bare chest. "Does he live close by?" It was meant to be a joke, but there was a hint of bitterness that was impossible to miss.

There was a long silence. "Fine, I'll bite." Iorveth said after a most awkward minute, "What do you want to talk about?" Saskia gave a heavy sigh.

"I require some assistance from someone who already knows about... me." She said, giving him a pointed stare on the last word. without a word further, he strode over to the door and locked it. "What happened?" He asked in a hushed tone, "Did someone see you?"

Saskia shook her head "No, nothing so immediate," She told the floor, "I just realized that there may be a practical flaw in the polymorph power... It wasn't something my father mentioned but... It also really couldn't have been predicted at the time." Iorveth tilted his head and pulled up another chair in front of her. "I'm listening..."

"well..." She rubbed her neck and looked away, "How to explain this?" she muttered.

"The Polymorph isn't perfect, As we witnessed when I was poisoned and Eilhart discovered me..." She began. "And... at some point, people will expect me to take a husband..."

The muscles in Iorveth's jaw clenched and unclenched at the thought. Saskia did not see this, as she could no longer look at him. "And he will expect me to share his bed..." She continued, staring at the dying embers on the floor. Iorveth ran a hand over his face, "and produce little lordlings, which, of course, you cannot produce..." He finished, "Perhaps just marry a particularly stupid noble. Humans are squeamish about pregnant women, it wouldn't be hard to fake-"

"No, no, not that... though, good to know you're thinking ahead..." She took a deep breath "The illusion falters when I lose control of my body... such as when I am rendered unconscious, or... possibly..." Her eyes found his, "When in the throes of... bodily pleasure..."

The moment when it clicked was visible on his face. He stared blankly at her in silence. "I would rather test this with someone who would not be terribly surprised at my true form... should it present itself." Saskia spoke very deliberately. She was answered with more silence. "look, I'd test it myself, believe me, I've tried," She dropped her voice even lower, "but I'm not as familiar with this kind of body as you might be... I know you don't really find human women appealing but... perhaps if we doused the fire... I mean, there's no consequence if you refuse-"

"This is a trick." He realized aloud.

"what?"

"This is the work of a very talented and soon to be very dead sorceress," He growled, anger seeping through his voice,"you might even be the real Saskia, put under another spell, I'm not sure-" He stood, hands clenching into fists.

Saskia stood and reached out. "no, Iorveth, it's me-" He snatched her hand away.

"And it is only because you might be using the real Saskia that you're not dead already-" Iorveth hissed, looking into Saskia's eyes, expecting to see the mangled face of Phillipa Eilhart staring back.

"Iorveth!" Saskia barked, indignant. but he continued.

"But know this: You will suffer" He snarled and leaned in close, maintaining eye contact, "I will find you. and I will make you regret this. I won't kill you... not yet. Saskia- the real Saskia deserves that right. When sh gets her hands on you" His voice dropped to a venomous whisper "you will regret your very existence."

Warmth suddenly spread through him, starting at his mouth and settling in his chest. It took him a moment to realize that Saskia had grabbed him by the neck and pressed her lips to his. He was too stunned to respond; it was like she were kissing a stone statue.

Logically, this was almost certainly a trap, but every fibre of his being wanted this to be real. Wanted it to be true that it was her and she wanted to kiss him. As his mind and body waged war over how to react, he remained frozen to the spot, still holding her wrist.

Her hand slipped down his neck to his chest as she pulled away. She could feel his heart pounding madly against his ribs, but his face remained expressionless. She waited with baited breath for a reaction, but no reaction came.

"I... I'm sorry. This was a mistake, it was wrong for me to-" Saskia said after a long moment. She shook her head and turned away, "I'm just going to go, forget I was here-" His grip on her wrist tightened and pulled her ever so slightly closer. For what was probably the third time in his centuries-long life, he found himself completely unable to conjure words; but he couldn't let her just leave either... not yet.

"You require my help?" He finally forced out. She nodded and took a step closer, "There isn't anyone else I could trust with this."

His hand wandered of it's own accord and found a lock of her hair laying in front of her shoulder. He brushed it away, revealing the graceful curve of her collarbone. He was suddenly aware that she was mere inches from him. He searched her features for any small sign of manipulation, though he had no idea what to look for in the first place. She no longer avoided his gaze; she stared right back at him unwaveringly. "If this is a trick, it is a singularly cruel one," He breathed in resignation and closed the minuscule gap between them. He was gentle at first, but he steadily grew hungrier after the first taste.

She returned his ferocity with surprising enthusiasm; pushing him up against the warm stone of the fireplace and biting his lip. Her teeth were ever so slightly sharper than that of a true human, not so much so that they drew blood, but just enough to remind him of her place on the food chain. As she released his lip to move on to his throat, something between lust and primal fear stirred deep within him.

While she looked like a mundane (though stunningly beautiful) woman, she was, in fact, a top predator. She could tear him apart with about as much effort as it took to skin a rabbit. It was thrilling to finally be with someone more dangerous than himself.

He rested his head against the stone hearth to grant her access to his throat. She pulled viciously at the knot that kept his shirt closed. As the fabric fell away, she ran her hands across his bare, hairless skin. He let out a quiet sigh at her touch. It had been much longer than he preferred since he'd felt the hand of a woman.

As she kissed his neck, his hands found the bottom of her nightgown and slipped under the fabric. She was much warmer than any other woman he'd known. Her skin was smooth and hot like silk wrapped around embers. He allowed his hands to travel across her flared hips and up her ribcage, lifting the nightgown with them.

"Shall I dim the fire?" she asked as she bit his ear.

"Don't you dare." He whispered back.

As he brushed against her breasts, she bit her lip to stifle an uncharacteristically girlish squeal. He chuckled softly. It was easy to forget that she was a virgin (at least in this body) and even the more modest sensations were new to her. She disdained the title, and held no sentimental value to the status, he knew, but it gained her favor with some who would otherwise be uncomfortable with a woman in power. A virgin was godly, pure, and most importantly, just non-threatening enough for fools to think they could control her. Perhaps that was also part of the reason she seemed so eager for it to be a political title only.

In fact, perhaps too eager...

He caressed her breast with one hand and pulled her in for another kiss with the other. Her hands had their own plans. They slid down to his ever-tightening trousers. As one pulled the drawstring loose the other plunged inside without hesitation and immediately found what it sought.

Iorveth took a very sharp breath and, with some generous application of will power, guided her hand back up his body. "Not quite yet..." he smirked through their kiss, "though I must admire your enthusiasm."

"And why not yet?" she cooed, sliding her thigh between his legs, "If my understanding on the subject is correct, you certainly appear ready." He stifled a groan as he enjoyed the gentle pressure she applied, he also silently thanked the powers that be that she at least knew what parts to be tender with.

"I am. More so than you even realize," he sighed, "You, however, need a little more attention..." He grabbed her backside and pulled her against his hip tighter. She rewarded him with a moan that sent a tingle of adrenaline down his spine. He decided he needed better access to her as soon as possible.

He ran his hand down her thigh and untangled it from his own so he could pick her up and carry her to the bed on the opposite wall. She held tightly to him with her legs and pulled him back into her lips with her hands on both of his ears. As they neared the bed, he began to lose his balance and fell onto the mattress on top of her.

Her hands now free, Saskia pulled the shirt from Iorveth's shoulders and he shrugged out of it for her. If he hadn't been fast enough, she may well have simply torn it from his body. He swiftly returned the favor by slipping her nightgown off over her head. The heat of her skin beckoned him to touch and kiss every inch of her he could find. In certain places she would arch her back and grab the furs above her head that covered the feather mattress. He would linger there just long enough to enjoy the sound of her breath growing ragged, then continue his path downwards.

He lingered at her breasts primarily for his own pleasure, though she certainly had no complaints. He held one in his hand while he took the other in his mouth. She pressed her chest into him and threw her head back. An unstifled moan escaped her throat.

He slid his free hand behind her to hold her against him, while the other played with her nipple for a moment longer before proceeding south. His hand found it's way to the drawstring on her pants then gently found it's way inside. "No fair... you won't let me do the same" she moaned. He smirked and gently tugged at her nipple with his teeth "You'll thank me in a moment"

She let out a sudden gasp when his fingers found their target; making small, calculated circles. She was hot to the touch and certainly damp but nowhere near ready. That would be remedied in good time.

She writhed against him and pulled him away from her breast to kiss him again. Her tongue invaded his mouth and her hand slipped under his bandanna to grab his hair.

It wasn't like she hadn't seen his disfigurement before, she knew well what he looked like, but a moment of panic rippled through him as he felt the cloth begin to slip from his face; He just didn't want her to see him like that. Not now. He pulled away and used her shoulder to pull the bandanna back over his scar. Then, smoothly as he could, he dove back in to kiss her neck; lest the moment be ruined. Though it didn't go unnoticed.

He returned to kiss her lips once more, this time her hand stayed at his neck. Meanwhile, he slipped a finger inside her. she bucked and gasped against him, her fingers involuntarily curled, scratching her nails against his neck. He moaned half in pain half in ectasy. While he had never gotten a complaint from his past partners he had also never had one enjoy him as much as she was right now.

He toyed with her until she had soaked through her smallclothes and he could feel her pulse as she steadily tightened around his fingers. As he extracted his hand from her trousers, she shuddered and whimpered in pleasure. "Now," he sighed in her ear, "Now I think you might be ready..." He slid down her body as he pulled her trousers and smallclothes off her legs.

Her thighs were pale and slick. as he pulled her clothes free and tossed them aside, he couldn't resist the urge to taste her milky white skin. Her toes pointed and flexed as he kissed and licked his way up her thigh to the source of the moisture on her skin.

He had never been with a human woman before, and the patch of hair on her mound was, admittedly, a little bit of an obstacle. Elves didn't grow any body hair, so he had no idea what to do with this anomalous little bit of fuzz. He certainly wasn't going to let it stop him though.

He ran his fingers through her lower hair like he would anywhere else and began sucking and licking at her folds below it. She cried out in ecstasy and chewed her knuckles to keep from getting any louder. In the back of his mind he knew that the walls were thin, and he often heard the muffled exploits of his neighboring Scoia'tel, thusly, they could likely hear the commotion here as well. But, he reasoned, they had all left for the night anyway... and he wanted to hear her scream for him.

He grabbed her backside and pushed her into his tounge, then slid his hands up to carress her flanks and stomach. She draped her legs over his shoulders and ran her hands over his forearms. When he found a spot that was particularly amazing for her, she squeezed his arms and her thighs quivered.

Suddenly, her breathing became erratic and she twitched and writhed uncontrollably. He thought he heard a very low and very quiet hum coming from her chest but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of her stifled cries of pleasure. He knew better than to look up or stop at a time like this so he held her hips down to keep her from injuring herself on his teeth and continued. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a faint golden glow seep through the skin on her thighs. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was gone. Her body relaxed and she released his arms.

"Was... was that it?" She panted.

Iorveth rose from his knees and simply stood, admiring the sight before him. Saskia lay, her arm draped over her face as her breasts rose and fell with heaving breath. her fingers and toes and lips colored a deep rose with surging blood. The firelight danced in her hair and around the most tantalizing curves of her body. She moved her arm to look at him, her amber eyes ablaze in the dim light.

"Iorveth?" She called him back to reality. He shook himself from his reverie and met her gaze, "You are stunning..." He told her. She smiled and grabbed his hand, pulling him down to the bed beside her. "You didn't answer my question." she said as she swung herself atop him, straddling his hips.

Her body was sensitive like a virgin, true, but her eyes held a confidence that virgins didn't know. She sat tall in her nakedness, no shame nor urge to hide herself. Now that the ambiguity over whether or not he would agree was settled, she looked wherever she pleased and her gaze did not falter. She watched her own hand as it traveled from his chest to his navel and came to trace a line of muscle definition on his hip. she bit her lip as she traced that crease downward toward the lip of his trousers.

"Perhaps it was not..." Iorveth finally answered her as he ran his hands along her powerful but smooth thighs, "many mortal women can have more than one if the mood so takes her, each more powerful than the one before. the first one is usually the least intense..." He ran his thumb across a most sensitive fold and smirked as she moaned and ground herself against his still rigid manhood inside his trousers. "If you want more, I will gladly give you more..." He began to push himself up but she playfully shoved him back to the mattress.

She grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand while she hungrily kissed him; biting his lip and licking the taste of herself off his chin. "but you've been so generous lately," she cooed in his ear, "and so very shy..." she slid her free hand down his body and into his trousers again, but this time deliberately dancing her fingertips around him.

He sighed and rolled his body against her hand. She ran her tongue across his throat and ever so gently ran a fingertip across the length of his shaft. "I think it's my turn to give..." she whispered as his eye fluttered shut and groan rumbled in his throat. She gently ran her fingers along him, just enough to tease, and slowly began to kiss down his body.

She released his wrists and slid his pants off as she made her way down. When they were tossed aside, she tossed her hair back, and smiled hungrily at him, though she wasn't looking him in the eye. She did have an awful lot of teeth...

He propped himself up up on his elbows and began to tell her "you don't have to do that, I just like... the way... you..." What it was he liked, she would never know. She shielded his flesh from her teeth with her tongue and lips. As she tasted him, his head rolled back and he was, once again, unable to conjure words; only shuddering breaths and moans.

Soon, despite his best efforts, he began to feel a very familiar shudder run down his spine. It wasn't eminent yet, but his climax was close. He didn't want to finish without ever even entering her.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position and guided her face up to his so he could kiss her. He ran his fingers through her thick waves of gloden hair and pulled her body flush against his. She straddled his hips again and slid herself back and forth across him. A small gasp and cry of pleasure escaped him as her hot, wet flesh slid over him.

He held her close and locked eyes with her. She returned his stare and nodded once. She was ready for him. He lifted her slightly and she tilted her hips. As she came back down they both tensed and cried out, no longer having any concept of a world outside of this bed.

Inside, she was so much warmer than he thought possible. It was very close to being unbearably hot but instead, was incredible. While he reveled in the sensation, Saskia interlaced her fingers with his and pinned him to the mattress again. She rode him hard, using her legs to pull him in deeper and deeper with every thrust. She tried to kiss him once more but even that took more concentration than either of them had. Instead, she just rested her forehead against his as her panting became faster and faster.

A low hum began in her chest again as her cries turned into screams of elation. The vibrations grew louder and more intense until Iorveth could feel them from within her. He felt himself pass the point of no return and gritted his teeth against it.

"It's... it's happening..." Saskia whimpered. Iorveth nodded, "me too, I'm going to..."

"n-no I mean... I'm... I'm changing" She stuttered, notes of panic leaking through her ecstasy. This broke him from his climax-clouded mind for just a moment. he opened his eye and saw the same golden light flowing through her veins under her skin, but much, much brighter this time.

"I can't stop it-" She moaned, She opened one eye to look at him. it was now reptilian and fiery orange. This house wasn't large enough to conceal her true form, he realized too late. Not to mention that he certainly wouldn't be able to survive the weight of an adult dragon. In the moment, he had completely forgotten why this was happening in the first place.

He couldn't think. he couldn't stop either. He struggled against his foggy mind for a moment before throwing her over so he could be the one on top. He thrust deep, and she grabbed him wherever her hands found purchase, digging into his skin and tearing the bandanna off his head, though he was too distracted to notice. He couldn't hold back a yell as he found his release in her, and she in him. The sound that escaped her lips could only be described as otherworldly. It shook the walls, rattled the panes of glass in the windows, and was most certainly heard by anyone within a half a mile of the house.

However, as they both lie there, twitching and spasming in their afterglow, Saskia retained her human shape. The hum faded as did the glow. And when she opened her eyes, they were back to a human shade of amber. She smiled down at Iorveth who looked very close to falling asleep on her chest. "Well that was... potentially fatal." She panted. He nodded lazily and grunted, "worth it."

Saskia giggled and ran her fingers through his limp, silky hair. It began to register to him that this must mean the bandanna had fallen off at some point. He slid off her chest and buried the right side of his face in a pillow while trying to discretely feel around for the bandanna.

Saskia was not fooled. She rolled on top of him, pinning his shoulders and playfully tugged at the point of his ear with her teeth. He smiled but did not turn his face.

"Look at me." Saskia said, running a hand along his face.

"I am looking at you." He smirked, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

"Face me, you stubborn jackass"

The smile faded. He shook his head, "You don't really want to see me like that right now."

"Iorveth, I know what you look like" She said, running her hand through his hair again, "I don't frighten that easily-"

"No."

The word hung in the air and bounced off the walls for a long moment. Had Saskia been less acquainted with him, she might have been surprised by the finality Iorveth was able to cram into such a short word. She knew he was skilled in authoritative speech, in fact, he might be the only person she knew to be her equal in that particular talent. During the few occasions in which they had disagreed in the past, it was like watching two mountains trying to knock each other over. Both issuing massive force but neither one budging.

However, it wasn't the force behind his refusal that made her eventually hand the tattered scrap of cloth back to him; it was the shame he thought he could hide behind it.

she politely looked away while he secured the fabric over his face. After it was in place she rolled onto her side next to him, tracing her fingers along the pale scars that criss-crossed his body.

"We really did not plan the logistics of this experiment well..." Saskia said, looking at the low ceiling, "If I had changed you would have gone right through the roof..."

He nodded, "That would have been hard to explain away."

"I don't think you would have lived to have to worry about that..."

"hmm, found dead, arse naked and balls deep in a dragon... I'd rather not be remembered in such a state..."

"But just imagine the tombstone: 'Here lies Iorveth, DragonFucker'"

"... 'DragonFucker' does have a certain ring to it..."

Eventually, after they had both recovered enough to walk without shaking legs. They lit a few candles so they could relocate their clothes. In the new light, Saskia gasped and pointed in horror at Iorveth's pelvic reigon. He couldn't help but laugh as he explained that the blood was just another side-effect of humans losing their virginity.

"well that's just... awful." She said, eyes wide as she looked down at her own bloodied thighs.

He smiled bemusedly and re-warmed water for the bath that he had started earlier. "so how many virginities have you taken to become such an expert?" Saskia asked slyly.

"A few..." Iorveth answered, purposefully obtuse,"How many suitors did you have before you switched from scales to skins?"

"A few..." She parroted.

After they had cleaned themselves, they sat together in the warm water, legs intertwined, and discussed politics and the future of Vergen. Saskia feared that even if the races were equal, there would still be too great an imbalance of power among the classes. Iorveth told her she was right to be afraid, the human nobility had grown accustomed to hoarding all the power, and few would be willing to distribute it among the commonfolk.

"They won't learn except by example," He explained, "Show them that you can distribute power of government to the people while still maintaining a livable lifestyle. Lead, don't rule."

"excuse me, but I think I've been doing just that." Saskia shot back, kicking water at Iorveth's face. He dodged, "You have... for the most part." He nodded, his face growing serious "But you have already made significant descisions without the consent of the people."

Saskia tilted her head quizzically, "How do you figure?" Iorveth pointed at the wall with the fireplace, "On the other side of that wall, is another house where three of my Scoia'tel live" He said, "And behind us, is even more of my Scoia'tel."

"I know, Iorveth, I zoned these houses to be built, what's your point?" Saskia said dryly.

"But across the street, there lives a D'hoine family whose child looks at me like I'm going to eat him." He continued.

"Elves are herbivorious." She scoffed

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"The way the D'hoine see it, you've released vicious wolves in their backyard then told them that they would just have to learn to live with them."

Saskia took a moment to reflect on the new perspective he had just given her. She shook her head and said, "But, you're not vicious-"

"But I am." He stopped her, "And so are many of my men. I can only control them because I'm vicious... They have been loyal to me so I will not abandon them, but say something happens to me, I fall ill, an accident, any number of mundane things that could kill me... there truly will be vicious beasts prowling Vergen. What then?"

Saskia sat up taller in the tub and confidently said, "Those men will be harshly punished for the crimes they commit. As any criminal in Vergen will be."

Iorveth shook his head, "It's too late by then. citizens will have been murdered by men you invited into the city. Men you took responsibility for by housing and settling here. Now you must share the responsibility of their crimes, as the choice to invite them in was yours and yours alone."

Saskia leaned back and studied Iorveth's face for a long moment. "What are you saying? I should have discarded you after your purpose had been fulfilled? Thrown you to the wolves like Nilfgaard?" she shook her head, "No... No, The Pontar Valley is better than that; Vergen is better than that... and I had hoped you knew that I am better than that."

She stared him down, challenging him to disagree further. He touched her knee, that rested near his hip. "Words cannot express our gratitude, my gratitude, that you have offered us the home that even our own people denied us..." He began, "I care for my men, Saskia, and they have never been happier than they are right now. But I also care about the Pontar Valley and what it represents. Plenty of countries have been founded on beautiful ideals that fell apart when it came time to apply them. If the Pontar Valley is to be run on a system of equality and even distribution of power then all decisions must be made that way, not just the ones that will end with what you want."

"Shall I hold a vote for all immigrants, then?" She shot back sarcastically.

"You know this is different and why." Iorveth said plainly, "you don't need me to explain it to you."

Saskia glowered at him for a moment. No words were spoken but Iorveth knew she was giving him a chance to take it back, to backpedal and pretend nothing had been said at all. He held firm and met her gaze. She shook her head, "I won't throw you out."

"that's not your decision to make... not in the people's Vergen."

She pursed her lips and pulled her legs away from him while she thought for a long moment. "fine," She relented with a sigh, "you're right... The people have a right to decide how much risk they put their children in..."

He knew it was the right thing. It would be hard to tell his men, but they would see reason. The Scoia'tel would make their own way on the fringes of the world, just like they always had. Perhaps one day, when the Pontar Valley proved itself to be a viable government, others would follow suit. They could scatter to other corners of the continent where their faces were unknown and start over, their crimes forgotten in generations of humans past.

No good would come if he lingered. He stood, letting the water roll off him, and strode over to the chairs sitting by the fireplace where his clothes lay. He found himself unable to look back at her as he pulled his trousers on. "Thank you, Saskia, for all-"

"In one month, there will be a vote," She cut him off tersely, "on whether the Scoia'tel will stay in Vergen or if they will be relocated to the ravines outside of town, and be considered their own territory of the Free Pontar Valley. During that time, you will direct your men to be the very face of civic responsibility. You will win the hearts of your neighbors, convince the boy across the street that you are not going to eat him, and in a month the vote will come back that you are to stay precisely where you are." She commanded.

He stared in silence as she stepped out of the bath as well and strode over to him. "Even wolves have the right to live in the wild." She said plainly as she pulled her nightgown over her head. And men have the right to live unhunted. You told me to lead by example... what example do I set if I repay aid with exile? No matter what, the Scoia'tel will live as free men, if not in Vergen then outside of it."

She pulled her cotton trousers on and laced up her boots. Iorveth still couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply dressed beside her in silence.

She threw her cloak over her shoulders and draped the hood over her head. "Oh, and one more thing:" She said, whirling on him, "You are not to scamper away whenever I show up. You will stay and tell me about your experiences and problems like everyone else. Do I make myself clear?"

He nodded, "Crystal."

"Good." She spat, "And I almost forgot-" She roughly grabbed him and pulled him into what she silently vowed would be the last kiss. "You will lock your door so I am not tempted to return for such an inappropriate visit."

Without waiting for his reaction, she turned on her heel and strode out the front door.

Iorveth pulled his keys out of his pocket and immediately tossed them into the fireplace.


	2. Hair of the Dog that Bit Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh fine, I guess I'll post the rest...

The next morning, Essa sat on the ground and leaned her head aginst the side of the house she shared with two other Scoia'tel. Her headache was bad but any small movement made her stomach churn and acid rise a little in her throat. The cool morning air helped the nausea.

Mitchell, one of her roommates, came out and set a cup of water down next to her. "take small sips or it'll all just come right back up." he warned as he sat opposite her and leaned his head against the stone half-wall that enclosed the front porch.

Essa was slender, even for an elf, and taller than most of the men in their unit. Her auburn hair fell in long, silky threads around her shoulders and complimented her porcelain skin well. Mitchell was a quadroon, and his human blood made him broad-shouldered and stocky. He had tight, ginger curls but he was not nearly so pale as Essa, though freckles dotted his cheeks and shoulders and anywhere else the sun hit him. His prominent pointed ears were unmistakably elvish, though, and gained him just as much scorn among the humans as his stocky build did among elves... except Essa, who had always been friendly toward him, so he repaid her in kind.

Essa tried to thank him for the water but all that came out was an exhausted grunt.

"Well, at the very least, we can trust that someone out there is having a worse morning than us..." Mitchell said sipping his own water. Essa rolled her eyes to look at him, as she couldn't find energy to move her head, "who on earth could possibly be worse off than us right now?"

Mitchell dropped his voice and leaned in, "according to Lydia, _Iorveth_ had a lady visitor last night,"

"oh, come on, the eye is... off-putting to be sure but the rest of him is allright-"

"no,no,no, my sympathies aren't with the mysterious ladyfriend," Mitchell explained, "apparently they were right in the middle of the deed when that dragon flew over last night and scared her off."

"So?"

"Have you ever had to just stop in the middle of it?"

"No."

"Trust me, it's the fucking worst."

"I disagree" A lazy drawl from behind the half wall made them both jump. Essa stared in horror as Iorveth sat two ceramic shot glasses on the ledge. "when you are interrupted toward the end of the venture is far worse."

Essa and Mitchell gaped and stuttered trying to get an apology out for their gossip but Iorveth had no time for it. "Hair of the dog this morning, people. Meeting in the back in one hour. We have much to discuss."

"The back" was what they commonly called the small circular yard in the middle of the Scoia'tel houses, as everyone's back doors opened toward it, even if they had to pass another Scoia'tel house before getting there.

He moved on without a word further. Mitchell handed Essa a shot and contemplated his own, "I hope he's not going to make us a dry faction... I know we've been overdoing it lately but-"

"yeah, seriously, this seems like a little much" Essa finished his sentence, swirling the shot around reluctantly and throwing it back before she could re-think it.

"Not as bad as I thought, it hardly even tasted like dog."

Mitchell tried to decide if Essa's commontongue was simply atrocious or if she was just profoundly hungover. He decided it was most likely both and shook his head as he threw the shot down.

* * *

Iorveth had expected some unease but he was somewhat taken aback by the outright dissent his men expressed. His patience had worn thin an hour ago, now his frayed nerves corrupted his speech.

"I really don't understand how you are not getting this," He told the group through gritted teeth, "I can only dumb it down so much before I just have to translate it into troll: _elf squirrels make nice face to humies or elf squirrels go back to living in_ _ **bloody caves**_ _!_ "

"We understand your words, just not where they come from!" One of the older women shouted in disdain.

"The D'hoine, and many other citizens of Vergen find us frightening." Iorveth explained for what felt like the thousand'th time, "if we want to continue living here and enjoying the luxary of shitting indoors, we will have to be _less_ frightening. Get jobs. Stop getting drunk and picking fights. help... people... do things. Fuck, I don't know, be creative."

"We fought for so long to get out from under the D'hoine's oppression and now you want us to grovel at their feet?" A younger blonde man shouted, "That's not the life I fought for! That's not the life our brothers _died_ for!" A murmor of general accord rumbled through the yard.

"Cooperating is not _groveling_ , Micah, don't be dramatic-" Iorveth began. Micah, the light-haired elf interrupted him, " _You're_ telling _me_ not to be dramatic-"

"That had ought to inform about _your_ piss poor tone!" Essa snapped, arms crossed, "I don't like it any more than you, but he's still our commander!" some nodded and shouted their support.

"Keep kissing ass, Essa," Micah scoffed, shaking his head, "one of these days it's bound to finally land you in his bed-"

"Ploughing whoreson!"

Essa dove at Micah's throat and Micah drew his dagger. A glint of steel flashed between them, halting their attack. Iorveth's stag antler knife sung and vibrated, embedded in the plaster wall beside them. The room fell silent.

" _Bloede wedd'le."_ Iorveth swore under his breath as he strode between Essa and Micah and yanked his knife out of the wall, "Are you really so blinded by your petty pride and hatred that you'll murder your own? Is _that_ why our brothers died, Essa, so you could cull our numbers yourself? Or did they die so we could be forever locked in conflict, even when we have to make it up ourselves?" He scowled down at the both of them. Ironically, Micah was actually half a head taller than Iorveth but felt much shorter under his gaze.

"You've killed more D'hoine than all of us, don't even pretend like that's not true." Micah said, doing his best to hold eye contact without allowing his voice to waver.

"I've probably killed more D'hoine than all of you _combined_." Iorveth snarled and pushed his bandanna up off his face, "and what has that gained me?" He pushed his face into Micah's vision and glared at him. Micah finally couldn't bear to look at his discolored, sunken, hollow eye socket any longer and averted his gaze in defeat.

He left Essa to contemplate her feet and Micah to glare at the back of his head. Addressing the group he said, "Look closely, _this_ is the reward I got for all my hatred. Old scars and more dead brothers than I care to remember. We fought and bled and died for a freedom those in Dol Blathanna now enjoy without us. Do I regret the things I did in the name of our people? not for a second. and neither should you. But the time for those deeds and those attitudes has past. So we have a very simple choice on our hands: We can either learn to live among the D'hoine and convince them that _we_ _want_ to be allies, or we can cling to our hatred and continue to reap the reward it sows... I don't know about the rest of you but I've found the fruit it bears to be pretty fucking bitter."

The group of elven men and women eventually nodded in agreement (though with varying levels of reluctance.) Iorveth sighed in relief, though quietly enough that none heard. for a while, it looked like he might have a mutiny on his hands. The last thing he wanted was to deal violence to his own men.

"Besides," he addressed the group again as he pulled his bandanna over his face once more, "I'm running out of body parts to lose."

He had managed to end the meeting on a high note, tentative though it was. As the group dispersed to sleep off hangovers and find work around town, some of the more dedicated like Essa and Mitchell stayed behind to discuss ideas for coordinated community service efforts.

Iorveth figured he might as well lead by example, himself, and set off between the houses into the city. "and what if we _can't_ live among the D'hoine?" a voice said quietly as he passed an alleyway. it was Micah, leaning against the back of Iorveth's house, arms folded. "What if every time we see one of their dense, apeish faces all we can see is fire, and all we can hear is screaming, what then, Iorveth? Where are _we_ supposed to go?" He wasn't angry anymore, but he still deserved some answers.

Iorveth sighed, looked around to see if any other Scoia'tel were within earshot, and approached Micah. "Look, Saskia has sworn that no matter what, we won't be fugitives again as long as we follow the laws here-"

"Who is _speaking_ to me right now?" Micah shook his head in disappointment with just a hint of disgust, "You look an awful lot like Aen Seidhe but your words are unmistakably D'hoine. 'We can all live in harmony as long as we all follow the D'hoine's laws.' They told us that back in my district too, yet somehow everyone I knew, law-abiding citizens and criminals alike all burned alive..."

"Saskia is different-" Iorveth began but Micah cut him off, "They're all different until they become the same... Was this really your plan all along?"

Genuinely puzzled, Iorveth tilted his head back slightly and gave Micah contemplative look, "What do you mean?"

"When you first began talk about this Saskia woman," Micah began, "I was befuddled as to why we should care, much less pledge our allegiance to a D'hoine when you of all people should know about D'hoine and their habit of forgetting alliances after they become less valuable than the hides that bear their colors. Then I remembered that you are, in fact, not a complete idiot and you learn from past mistakes and came to the conclusion that you were surely forming a plan to overthrow this D'hoine whor-"

Micah did not even feel Iorveth's fist as it collided with his throat, his voice simply stopped working, and he hit the ground with a thud. Wheezing and coughing, Micah tried to get to his feet. Iorveth placed a foot on his back and forced him back down to the dirt. "As I was saying," He hissed, venom dripping from his voice, "Saskia has promised that we are all to live as free men, and be persecuted as free men if we transgress the Laws of the Pontar Valley... however, if we are unable to live among the humans, alternative housing will be provided. So maybe show some bloody respect for the one country who is willing to see beyond the price tag on each of our heads." Micah panted and wheezed, struggling to draw air through his swollen trachea. He opened his mouth to speak but the only sound that came out was of his raw flesh slapping uselessly over the air he forced out, making him cough more.

"On my mantle, there's a bottle with a green label." Iorveth sighed, removing his boot from Micah's back, "It tastes awful, but it will make the swelling go down and numb the pain. Take it, and watch your damn mouth."

Iorveth stepped over Micah and continued his way into town, leaving him to struggle over speech alone.

In the courtyard, Essa tilted one ear into the air. "does anyone else hear a duck quacking?"


	3. Working Man

It had probably been two centuries since Iorveth had looked for a job that did not involve violence. He really didn't know where to start any more. When he had last searched for a job, it was mostly menial work, separating cotton from its husk, pushing mine carts, all work that was done by machinery now. There were not many jobs left that he had any experience in. So he was forced to just ask directly if anyone needed help. He was answered primarily with blank stares and the occasional hurried apology before they briskly vacated the vicinity. One or two had simply absurd suggestions, such as the woman who asked if he could watch her ten-year-old son for the day and tutor him in archery. Iorveth informed her in as few terse words as possible that he did not deal with children.

Finally he was left with the option of either talking to the miners or going back to the woman who had an apparent death wish for her children. So, he endured the open laughter of the dwarven miners when he showed up.

"Well, can't say I've ever seen an elf in a mine before," The head prospector said, wiping a tear from his eye, "But I guess there's a first time for everything. Y'ain't never worked a mine before have yeh?"

"I pushed a cart when I was a child, but that was some considerable time ago…" Iorveth answered.

"I daresay ye were considerably shorter, too."

"I shall duck when necessary."

He had truly underestimated how low the ceiling in the mines would be. There wasn't anywhere he didn't have to stoop to keep from scalping himself on the jagged rock.

He found himself distracted by trying to puzzle out exactly what had taken place the night before. The conversation about Vergen and his Scoia'tel seemed straightforward enough, though he doubted any amount of civil service would sway the opinions of the D'hoine. The part that perplexed him was where, exactly, he stood with Saskia now. realistically, they were on the same level that they were before. After all, it was an experiment and nothing more. On the other hand, she was right in her hypothesis: even the stupidest of nobles would notice when her blood became alight. And only he knew that her human form was not her original one. The muscles in his cheeks twinged but he would not allow himself to smile in such unfamiliar company.

By the time the shift was over, the sun was setting and his spine ached whenever he moved, not to mention he was dirtier than he had words for. There was grit literally everywhere, stuck in the webbing between his fingers, crunching between his teeth, dusted precariously on his eyelashes so there was always the threat of getting sharp chunks of rock stuck in his eyelid. Of course, this happened immediately as he stepped out of the mine, straightening his back for the first time in hours.

His first instinct was to try to work it out of his eye with his hands, which were also covered in rock dust, making the problem a thousand times worse.

"Rocks in yer eye?" A vaguely familiar voice asked from somewhere near his elbow, "Don' worry 'bout it. happens t' everybody their firs' day."

"True" Said an unfamiliar voice on his opposite side, "but ye'd think them pretty eyelashes would be good for _sumthin'_."

"Piss off, Rorj," The more familiar voice said tersely, before addressing Iorveth again, "There's a wash basin over t' yer right. Jus' follow me."

Iorveth figured it would be best not to respond to the dwarf named Rorj. He was already in a quite sour mood and it wouldn't take much to incite him to violence. Against all instinct to the contrary, he turned away and tried to distinguish a dwarven shape out of his blurry, stinging vision. Who was that? His mind placed it somewhere in Flotsam, but he couldn't quite put a face to the voice yet.

"Ah'm jes' sayin'… My wife spends an inordinate amount o' me money tryin' t' get eyelashes like that." Rorj continued, trotting along behind them. "An' even so, she don' come out lookin' near as pretty as you, Squirrel. Well… as pretty as half of yeh."

"Now Rorj," The amicable dwarf warned, his voice stern, "y'know Melinda said she'd leave yeh if ye come home with another black eye. An' frankly, ah won' defend yeh."

 _Zoltan Chivay!_ Iorveth finally recognized the voice from a memory that seemed much longer ago than it was. _"yer talkin' 'bout killin' folk who ain't done you nor me no harm whatsoever. This isn't what Saskia would want, an' frankly, ah won' be part of it."_ The dwarf had said, chin held high, steadfastly holding Iorveth's gaze, despite having to crane his neck to do so. Most dwarves were stubborn and intense, to be sure, but usually this façade was overcompensation. Zoltan was an exception. No threats, no apologies; He simply wasn't going to be a part of his plans, and there was no alternative. Iorveth admired that, though the Dwarf's tenacity had not altered his plans in the slightest.

Which made this situation somewhat befuddling. Zoltan was never known to be a hateful man, but made it no secret that he held great disdain for most of Iorveth's opinions and actions. So why take his side against a fellow dwarf?

"Ah don' think there's much cause for concern," Iorveth could hear the smirk in Rorj's voice, " He's harmless now that Saskia's relieved him of his balls."

Iorveth stopped walking and clenched his jaw, distracting himself with the sound of silt grinding between his teeth. Still, he found himself calculating precicely how far away Rorj was…five feet, directly at 6:30, his mouth was about four feet from the ground.

"It's like a war dog, Y'only leave 'im intact for the battle then y'got two choices-"

"Rorj, yer gonna be on yer own…"

Four feet…

"Y'either put 'im down or y'neuter 'im so he can be a good boy…."

Three feet…

"An' ah'm jes' sayin'-"

Two…

"If she didn' have th' heart t' put ye down, boy, there's only th' one altern-"

There was a satisfyingly heavy resistance when Iorveth's heel struck under Rorj's chin. In order to maximize the force behind the mule kick he had just delivered, he had to lean all the way forward into a roll to continue the momentum. but it was worth it to hear two separate impacts of his boot on the dwarf's chin, and the dull thud of his limp body hitting the ground half a moment later.

He didn't turn around, as he still couldn't see. He simply stood and strode over to the well where Zoltan had been leading him. He was fully aware that this almost certainly meant he was officially out of job opportunities, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"I ploughing told yeh, Rorj… Y'daft bastard…" he heard Zoltan say pityingly.

When he Finally worked the grit out of his eye, Iorveth turned, fully prepared for the usual faces of horror and disdain to be plastered all over the Dwarven miners… but that was not what met him. In fact, the crowd simply walked around Rorj as he groaned and slowly regained consciousness; completely ignoring him.

"Don' look so shocked." Zoltan said as he approached, "Rorj gets his arse handed to 'im ev'ry other week." Iorveth hadn't noticed his flared nostril, which tugged his lip into a lopsided gape. He corrected his expression and turned to walk with Zoltan. "Does he always pick opponents stronger than him?" He asked, returning to a disinterested drawl.

"Almost exclusively." Zoltan nodded, "It's kind of an amazin' skill he has; to pick the most violent person in any crowd and piss 'em off."

"I suppose the natural order of things will take care of him eventually…" Iorveth shrugged, looking over his shoulder as Rorj pushed himself off the ground, but not quite to his feet. "That or the booze, poor sod." Zoltan sighed, "Ah don' think ah've ever seen 'im sober."

There was a somewhat awkward pause in conversation. "Speaking of liver damage!" Zoltan suddenly chimed in cheerfully, "I owe yeh a drink." Iorveth raised his unmangled eyebrow, "what for?"

"First day in th' mines!" Zoltan exclaimed, slapping Iorveth on the shoulderblades, as he couldn't quite reach his shoulder.

"Oh? And what do I get for my last day because I'm quite certain they are one and the same."

"bah, if we fired ev'ry one who picked a fight, the mine'd be manned by empty carts an' stationary pickaxes."

…

They had collected their pay for their shift and nobody even mentioned the incident with Rorj. The foreman told Iorveth to return the next day at the same time. Until he found something else to do, he figured it was as good a job as any, and it did pay well.

"Now, to be fair," Zoltan began, his cheeks and nose flushed with drink, "Y _'are_ prettier than Melinda…"

"Oh I'm sorry, did you also want a beating?" Iorveth smirked, sipping on some kind of clear liquor, which was billed as vodka but tasted like something entirely cheaper. Zoltan, however, was collecting a small armada of empty shot glasses. "Don' jump t' takin' offense s'damn quickly!" Zoltan grinned, "Y'ever _seen_ Melinda? It's no accomplishment t' be prettier than _that._ "

Iorveth leaned back and murmured the name to himself to see if he could match a face to the name. "Melinda… Melinda… Oh! Melinda with the onions? I've seen uglier than her-"

"no,no,no, That's Melanie, Melinda runs the fish cart."

" _ **Oh**_." Iorveth grimaced, remembering the snaggle-toothed and hook-nosed fish merchant.

"aye… and, t'be fair, a perfectly pleasant one…" Zoltan reminded himself, "Just… not very comely."

"We can't all be at pretty as you are, Zoltan." Iorveth said through the last of his "vodka." The, now, tomato- faced dwarf laughed heartily and slapped his knee. "Ah-ha! He _does_ have a sense o' humor after all!"

The two men chatted and drank until the pub began to empty of its working class group and the true night owls filtered in. Iorveth had originally agreed to come only because it was easier than finding a polite way to decline (Zoltan was quite adamant) but he found himself genuinely enjoying the company. Still, he couldn't shake a certain feeling of unease. He couldn't figure out Zoltan's motives. Before today, as far as Iorveth knew, they were considered begrudging allies at best. Now, however, the dwarf laughed and talked with him like they had been friends for years. Again, he found a desire for companionship struggling against a tendency toward suspicion.

Had he always been so wary of other people? Or was that a by-product of living like an animal for so long? He couldn't really remember anything past the last century of violence. All he had were memories of memories; Like the faint lines left on paper after the words had been erased.

The thought perplexed him even after they had paid their bill and slipped out into the dark, abandoned streets.

...

...

Eventually, the two came to their crossroads and Zoltan bid Iorveth a slurred farewell, "Ah'll see yeh. Try not to let the hangover slow yeh down."

Iorveth smirked. "I doubt it'll be a concern. I'm nowhere near knackered enough to regret it." As he finished scoffing, he realized that his balance had shifted enough to prop him against the signpost. How long had he been leaning on this molding sign?

Zoltan laughed "Boy, th' way you been walkin, I thought y' were following a serpant with a gold tongue"

Iorveth didn't know what that was supposed to mean.

Zoltan shook his head and walked down his street, waving over his shoulder, "Don' hurt y'self!"

Iorveth contemplated an abandoned shop cart for a long moment before he turned to the Dwarf, "You don't like me." He called plainly.

Zoltan turned around with a cocked eyebrow and a bemused smirk. "Y'read minds, do yeh?" he answered.

Iorveth pushed himself off the signpost and walked forward a few paces, his arms folded. "You've never made it a secret. In Flotsam you found me brutish, during the war I was a necessary evil at best. Today I'm worthy of your unsolicited company. Why?"

Zoltan tilted his head back and studied the elf for just a moment before striding forward, his smile gone. "Did ye know we fought in _two_ wars t'gether?"

Iorveth furrowed his brow, "I did not."

"aye." Zoltan nodded, "granted, only the one bein' on th' same side..." He stopped at a respectul distance but somehow it felt like an invasion of space. "It's no secret that ye wore the black sun durin' the war... but did ye know yeh've still got the accent?"

Iorveth's eyebrows bounced in genuine surprise. He thought he had completely lost his native accent, as he had worked hard to erase it over the past century.

"Northern from th' sound of it." Zoltan continued. "Y'hold vowels just a hair too long fer southern Nilfgaard."

Iorveth put his shock in check and smoothed his face of expression, "You have quite the ear for accents."

"Ah wouldn' be alive if ah didn't." Zoltan shrugged, "Half the time, it was the only way to tell friend from foe."

Iorveth nodded, still skeptical. "A fine and useful skill to be sure. What's your point?"

"Perhaps in a certain place, it's a fine and useful thing... but right after the war, it brought me nothin' but trouble. After the war, travel between the nations resumed and folk came from all over creation passin' through town. An' all of a sudden, I heard _enemies_ everywhere ah went, not just accents. Ah didn' have th' money t' just up n' move so ah started t' feel like ah'd been locked in th' lion's den. It took me many years b'fore I was able t' hear a long vowel or dull 'T' without feelin' th' need t' deck someone... Some of me mates still feel the need and carry it out on occasion.

"Ah remember tryin t' come down from War. It ain't easy. but yer tryin... and that's more than can be said fer some."

With that, Zoltan nodded once and left Iorveth to ponder this notion as he swayed and zig-zagged home.

 _"Bloody hell..."_ He muttered as he suddenly realized. _"Snakes Slither"_

* * *

Iorveth fumbled through his front door. He was beginning to suspect he might have been a touch more inebriated than predicted. He had a fleeting vision of himself, a century and a half ago, disgusted by the notion of being drunk while alone.

He silently swore to stick to water for the rest of his life as he shed his leather chestpiece; it had begun to feel heavy. He looked briefly at his tub and decided against it. Instead he decided one night of filth was just going to have to happen because he was going to fall asleep in a few minutes irregardless of where he was. So he headed for bed.

Just then, he heard very faint footsteps outside the door behind him. He silently turned and waited, his hand over the doorknob, waiting to react. He heard the feet outside shuffle then heard an oddly familiar uncertain groan. He opened the door and caught Saskia just as she turned to leave.

"And I had almost gotten away, too." She sighed before entering the house. She wore the same heavy, dark cloak and what looked like men's clothes

Iorveth resisted the urge to swiftly exit the same door she had entered. There was no way he would be able to carry on meaningful conversation in this state, nor would he be able to admirably preform the task he hoped she would return for. He did everything in his power to hide this fact.

"What? What do you need of me?" he asked.

Saskia shook her head at him, "We are not coy people, Iorveth." she said as she stripped the cloak off of her shoulders.


	4. Regrettable Descisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help but illustrate hungover morning after Iorveth:  
> https://41.media.tumblr.com/a0b189cdc2b4f6e36282a61bc06d1537/tumblr_o020z9Y0lj1tjbe0io1_540.jpg

Iorveth remained silent as Saskia dropped her cloak on the back of a chair. This was a crucial moment. In spite of herself she had come back, if this didn't happen tonight, she may never return. She was studying him already. He needed to say something before she caught on to how drunk he was.

"I thought you did not intend to return..." He said keeping his tone even. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, as though he were simply nonchalant. He held his head intentionally high, dispite how heavy it felt. He looked her in the eyes and prayed the flickering firelight disguised how his eye kept drifting shut.

"I did not intend to..." Saskia said matter-of-factly, as she tugged at the knots at her chest "but here I am." The fabric fell apart from her chest, revealing her smooth skin down to her sternum. "Now what shall you do about that?"

Iorveth chewed on the inside of his cheek while he pondered how to accept this offer without seeming too eager. He also weighed how long he would have to stall before he could preform admirably... by his estimates it would be somewhere in the middle of his shift in the mines tomorrow. All the while, his eye had drifted downward as he stared in silence.

The firelight caught in her golden hair and danced around the curve of her breast. he felt his pulse quicken and his trousers grow steadily tighter. at least he knew all the necessary parts were still functional.

Again, he became aware of his own silence. He decided he would just have to do his best with the state he was in. There was no way he would let this chance pass him by. He wouldn't get away with being silent for much longer, and he couldn't conjure words.

Saskia rolled her eyes impatiently, "Look, if you're-" She was abruptly cut short as the taste of cheap vodka hit her mouth with all the grace of an incoming fist. Iorveth decided it best to simply ignore the fact that he had very nearly chipped a tooth with his sloppy attempt at seduction. Instead, he pulled her tight against his hip and pretended that he meant to roughly shove her into sitting atop the table.

Saskia bit his lip but allowed him to clumsily dominate for a while. His hands fumbled with un-tucking her men's shirt from her trousers but finally pulled the fabric free and slid over her warm skin. She sighed at his touch, encouraging him that perhaps she truly hadn't noticed how impaired he was.

Saskia slid her hands down his neck and eagerly tore open his leather chestpiece, then swiftly opened his shirt and allowed them both to simply fall open, exposing his scarred chest. For a moment she pondered how curiously smooth the skin between his scars were as she delicately ran her fingers along the unscarred spaces.

As her hands descended his body, his rose up to her breasts. She groaned and pulled his hips in close and rolled against him. She was rewarded with a quiet gasp and a squeeze. Spurred on by the heat between her legs, Iorveth momentarily forgot that her shirt was one that needed to be pulled over the head and grabbed either side of the collar and pulled it open, tearing it away from her body with a loud rip.

"Oh shit-" he began an apology but Saskia was already viciously kissing him again. She pushed him back from the table to herd him toward the bed. "forget it," she said as she surfaced for air, "I just need to fuck you right now."

While Saskia was certainly not a soft-spoken woman, he had never heard her be quite so vulgar either. Even in his current state, it gave him some pause. He wasn't entirely sure if he found that distracting or enticing. He quickly forgot his dilemma when Saskia shoved him to the mattress and roughly untied his trousers.

without bothering to strip him entirely, Saskia tugged his trousers down just enough to expose him and took him in her mouth without ceremony nor warning.

Unfortunately, this was as far as Iorveth's memory would serve him.

He woke, naked, to beams of sunlight streaming through his windows, catching motes of dust that floated lazily through them. They were his only company.

His limbs were heavy, and his head felt like it was going to crack open at any moment. He squinted around the room and saw a cup on the table that was not there the night previous. With a great effort, he pushed himself from the bed and drug his feet over to the table.

The cup was about halfway full of water with a few sprigs of a thin, green weed he couldn't identify and a few loose tea leaves floating in it. under the cup was a scrap of paper that had been written on with charcoal:

"I figured you might need this in the morning. I've heard it isn't palatable to Aen Seidhe, but it should help your imminent headache. I trust you've learned your lesson about drinking with dwarves.

-S.

PS: I took the liberty of borrowing one of your shirts, I'll find a way to return it soon."

Iorveth cursed under his breath. His memory was foggy at best, and was completely absent after a certain point. Saskia's note offered very few clues as to how the night had ended. He may well have completely ruined his chances of ever seeing Saskia's perfectly shaped body again.

Judging by the angle that the sunlight came trough his window, his shift at the mines would start soon. Not that he was entirely eager to return before, but now the thought filled him with dread.

He eyed the cup in his hand suspiciously. He did not make a habit of drinking strange liquids, and there was no way to tell if it had truly been Saskia who had left this. After all, he was not a particularly popular man in Vergen, and he had recently lost the ability to lock his door.

On the other hand, the note certainly sounded like it was written by someone who had been present for last night's activities... unless someone had taken Saskia and left the note and the possible poison while he slept. No, it would require quite a scuffle to subdue Saskia, even unarmed. Surely, he would've woken from that.

As a compromise, he threw down half of the concoction. Poison or not, he doubted he would be able to stomach much more than that anyway. In his youth, a rival tried to drown him in laundry water, the taste reminded him of that long ago time.

By the time he arrived at the mines, he began to wish he had drank the entirety of the foul tea. His stomach had settled and his limbs felt stronger but the headache was still distracting, and he tired faster than usual. He spent most of his time trying desperately to recover memories of the night before. A few moments came back to him; a gentle chuckle as she told him to lie back; her hands as they tightened on his chest; she whispered something in his ear, though he couldn't remember what; A golden glow illuminating the room.

He decided he couldn't have embarrassed himself too much, elsewise she would have simply left him to his misery. No, Saskia was fierce but always had a certain kindness to her. A kindness he admired but had accepted long ago he would never posses. She was also strong. He could feel it in her touch. In the effortless way she shoved him to the bed and held him there; in precisely the position she wanted him.

Inexplicably, Iorveth found himself returning to the thought of Saskia returning to her quarters wearing his clothes. All her reputation and strength wrapped up in his scent. Even D'hoine, with their dull senses, would pick up that something was different. They would notice something lingering along with Saskia and all that came with her, but be too dense to discern what that thing was. But he knew. and so did she.

Also, perhaps she would not wear trousers with that shirt. Instead, just allow the tails to barely cover her, letting just the b-

"How yeh feelin' this mornin'?" Zoltan jolted Iorveth from his visions.

Iorveth sighed to release some of his annoyance at being interrupted. "I'd say regretful but I shan't give you the opportunity to gloat." He told the dwarf, cocking an eyebrow.

Zoltan smirked, "If I were a kinder man I might've warned yeh ter slow down. The Vodka up north sneaks up on yeh like a debting whore."

The two men worked in the same tunnel that day, Saying mostly nothing but occasionally a small converstation would spring up and fade just as quickly. When the call went out to surface, they walked together in comfortable silence along with the rest of the miners. None in the crowd stood higher than Iorveth's chest.

Zoltan chatted with other dwarves as they passed. Iorveth paid their conversations very little attention and instead took mental stock of how many orens he would have after this shift and how many he would owe the city of vergen at the end of the month. They were dangerously close to the same number. It had been the better part of two years since The War for the Valley (as it had come to be called) and the mercenary money from the state was drying up.

On the other hand, at the end of the month, he may well not have to worry about that. At least he wouldn't miss the minutia and beaurocracy of city life. Life in the wild was simple in a certain way, not easier, but easier to control. There was always the option to leave the city, his scoia'tel would need him out there, a fair percentage of them would leave once the option became available. The ones who stayed would be able to adapt and live among the D'hoine, the ones who couldn't would need someone to reign them in; curb their rage when a hunter or wanderer stumbled across them. Not that he was much of an example, but it was better than nothing. Left to their own devices, they would be on the headsman's block before the same time next year.

An image of Saskia wearing his shirt, bathed in early morning sunlight, flitted across his mind.

Iorveth managed to escape before Zoltan could invite him to whatever casual social event the dwarves had been discussing. His hangover was still lingering enough to make crowds intolerable.

It had been months since he'd shot his bow, and a good pelt or two could earn him some spending money. Yes. The forest seemed like a great place to recover and hide from the crowds for a few hours.

He went home, washed most of the silt off himself, and changed into the lighter of his two donkeyskin Jackets. When he finally went to take his bow and quiver from their pegs on the wall, he noticed a thin layer of dust accumulating on them. It might have been the first time he'd seen house dust in the last century. It brought on a slight twinge of anxiety that compelled him to find new scenery.

A chill blew through the trees and stole the last warmth from the air. Iorveth had collected a few rabbits but nothing terribly substantial. It would have to do. He tied the last rabbit to his belt and set off for Vergen.

As he reached the gates, he heard a screech from behind him. He turned sharply back to the trees he had just exited. It was close, just behind the first few layers of brush. Forests were home to any number of creatures that made such sounds from barn owls to harpies. But it was loud and close.

Just as he turned to continue into the city he heard it again, but this time it spoke, "Help! Help me please!" This only cemented his resolve to return to the city. He turned towards the gate with a small chuckle. He had practically invented the cry for help ambush. In reality, when people were in true peril, they almost never cried for help; they would plead, pray, threaten, or just scream like animals, they only cried for help if they saw someone nearby and they were never so polite as to add a "please."

Unfortunately, as he looked up from bemusedly shaking his head, he saw a guard atop the wall, staring at him in horror and disgust. No words were spoken, the mans eyes screamed, "you fucking monster" loud enough to overcome the silence between them.

There was no way to explain how certain he was that this was the setup to a robbery, and Vergen's D'hoine didn't need another reason to hate him. Iorveth sighed exasperatedly and pinched the bridge of his nose in defeat.

"Well don't just stand there, call the guard, tell them which way I went" He shouted before turning around and trudging back into the forest. He drew an arrow and nocked it as he kicked through the underbrush.

He walked a ways in and heard small, light footfall running deeper in to the forest. He rolled his eye in exasperation, "Hello?" he called begrudgingly, "anyone out here?" on cue, the bait screamed again from deeper into the forest "Please! Help!" The voice called, pleading and high-pitched but in a pleasing tenor; lacking the ugliness of true desperation. Also, never hinting to a specific danger, lest it prove to be too dangerous to risk.

He followed the voice deeper. He knew this game of voice tag. The bait, usually either a small child or beautiful young woman, lured the target far from the path, making them hard to track, so any backup that might arrive would be unable to find them. Then, upon arriving in the predetermined, secluded area, the bait would stutter and stammer and cry to keep the target's attention while the ambush moved into position and sized up their opponent. Then the bait would immobilize the target somehow and it would all be over before the victim even knew he had been tricked.

"Gods, help me!" The sweet voice called again. He followed it into a small clearing where the fading light only just illuminated a tiny figure, perhaps three feet tall, and only if she stood as tall as she could. A dwarven child, her hair in a ratty, unkempt bun and her face and clothes were filthy. She leaned against a tree and panted like she had been running for hours. Unsurprisingly, she was skinny, unimposing, and adorable.

"Oh, how shocking, the smallest possible child they could find." Iorveth said flatly. The girl didn't seem to notice his tone and worked up the best wail she could, "Please! please help me! It got my leg, I can't walk!" She pulled her tattered cloak away from her leg to reveal a shredded dress, covered in red stains.

"Interesting, did you fly, then? because your first cry for help came from about fifty metres that way." he jerked his head back behind him, still keeping his arrow nocked. "Now how many archers are in your group?"

"It dragged me! please! you have to help me get home!" She wailed, without hesitation. Her cheeks were wet with tears but only a gentle shade of pink, not the pained maroon of terror. She was a dedicated actress if not a very good one. Meanwhile, the leaves began to rustle just a hair too harshly for it to simply be the wind.

Iorveth grew impatient and drew back his bow, "Listen to me, you little urchin." He snarled, training the bow on the girl and striding aggressively towards her, "If you're going to lie to me, you're at least going to put some bloody work into it."

"Fucking hell, mister!" the girl shouted, a solid octive lower than she had previously been speaking. She threw her back against the tree and held a hand up, a gesture to wait. "There you go girl," he smirked, stopping before he came within the ten foot radius he knew they wanted him in, "Remember this, this is what fear sounds like."

"What are you talking about? I'm hurt I-" She began slipping back into her sweet, kittenish voice again; which had been grating on Iorveth's nerves even before he saw her contrived expression. He released the arrow and it twanged into the tree inches from her head. "Fuck!" The girl cried out, in genuine terror this time. She flung herself away from the tree, and quite convincingly limped over to another one to lean against.

"Please mister, I just wanna go home!"

When she looked up again, Iorveth already had a new arrow nocked and three others in his hand, ready for a rapid shot. "How many of your friends are archers?" Iorveth said evenly.

"You think if I had any friends I'd be out here!?" the girl shouted, forgetting her character for a moment. Another arrow shunted itself into the ground at her feet.

"If you had any intelligent friends you wouldn't be out here." He sneered, "I tire of your bad acting, girl. On the count of three I am going to release this arrow unless you tell me how many archers you have with you." The girl stared right down the arrow's shaft into his eye.

"Why are you doing this?"

"one."

"Fuck, guy, just-"

"two."

"There's four!"

The girl heard a twang, a whitsle, and a snap but somehow they all seemed like the same sound.


End file.
